


Wardrobe

by nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Unrequited Lust, it's a bustle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 09:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Does my bum look big in this?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wardrobe

Donna twisted and turned in front of the mirror, trying to get a good look at herself. 

“You look fine,” said the Doctor, eager to head off another round of changing clothes which, he was certain, somehow extended time beyond its usual limits. 

Donna made a sceptical noise. “Yeah, because you're the expert.” She smoothed her skirt and placed her hands on her hips. 

“Who says I'm not? I could be a doctor of fashion for all you know.”

“You certainly own enough clothes,” said Donna, who still hadn't got over the sheer size of the wardrobe room. 

“They're not all mine,” he said rather defensively.

“I dunno,” she said, “I think that sparkly catsuit thing might be just your style.” She picked it off the rail and held it in front of him speculatively.

The Doctor snatched it from her and replaced it next to the kilts and the plastic dresses. “It wouldn't go with the sideburns.”

“Anything to get you out of that suit,” muttered Donna. 

The Doctor stared at her as she turned away back to the mirror. Surely she hadn't just said that? And if she had then she hadn't intended him to take it as an interest in him taking his clothes off. Which he hadn't, at all, in any way. “What's wrong with my suit?” 

“I'm getting dressed up to fit in and you're not, that's what's wrong with it. It seems a bit futile on my part when you look like a used car salesman.”

“I do not look like a used car salesman!” he protested.

“And that coat of yours... I keep expecting you to open it and it'll be full of gold watches and dodgy mobile phones.”

The Doctor sniffed. “I'll put on the blue suit if you like.”

“Oh yeah, so that you match your wife.”

It took him a second to get her meaning, then he yelped “The TARDIS is not my wife!”

“Fancying a spaceship,” she said with a shake of her head. “It's weird.”

“I don't fancy my spaceship!”

“Whatever,” said Donna, unconvinced. She turned round once. “Does my bum look big in this?”

The Doctor automatically looked down. Then he looked up again as soon as he realised what he was doing. He was not going to stare at Donna's arse. It wasn't appropriate. Besides, he only did that when there was no chance that she'd notice. “You're wearing a bustle,” he said, in what he felt was his most reasonable tone.

“So it makes me look fat?” Donna looked at herself in the mirror with a critical expression. 

“Of course not! It's supposed to accentuate... certain areas, that's all.” And the dress was, he had to confess, very good at accentuating Donna's areas. He affected a disinterested look as he thought about the way her breasts were pushed up and outwards by it. 

“If _you_ think I look fat then I must look like a planet!” 

“You look fine! Don't get all... hot and bothered.”

Donna stared at him and he tried not to flinch. “Do I look bothered?”

“No?”

Donna turned his own words against him. “So you're saying I look hot?” She was smirking now, which was better than her worrying about non-existent fat but worse than her not putting him on the spot like this.

“I wouldn't know,” he lied. “I can barely tell humans apart to be quite honest about it.”

“You're a bloody liar. I suppose it's just an amazing coincidence that all your other friends are attractive?”

Well, nine hundred years old and the last of his kind. You couldn't really blame him for wanting something nice to look at on all those lonely nights in the vortex. Not that he was going to _say_ that, but... “What do you mean, all my _other_ friends?”

Donna shrugged, a movement that translated down her body as her breasts leaping up and down. “I invited myself along, I don't count.”

“You don't count as my friend?”

“Of course I do. I don't do _Buffy: The Vampire Slayer_ marathons with just anyone, you know.”

“I knew those meant something.”

“I'm just not one of your hot friends, that's all.”

“Donna,” said the Doctor, trying not to tread on too many eggshells, “if I say you're attractive you'll slap me and accuse me of spying on you in the shower. You'll call me a skinny alien pervert and you won't talk to me for three days without making me cover my eyes first.” Donna opened her mouth to protest and the Doctor cut her off. “I know you will, so there's no point in denying it.”

“That was ages ago, I've got used to you now.”

“Donna, you're my best friend. You could have two noses and I'd think you looked lovely.” There, that seemed like a safe enough thing to say. 

“Thanks. I think.”

“You're welcome,” he said, eager to leave both the topic and the wardrobe room. 

Donna took one final look at the mirror and then swished past him into the corridor. “Come on then, you promised me dinner in a posh restaurant.”

The Doctor followed her out and hurried to catch up with her before deciding that, well, the view from behind her _was_ rather nice...


End file.
